Saturday, August 08, 2009

One Afternoon's Diary

The quiet of the gentle rain a peace. Otherwise, the calm of the afternoon. Misted glass a muted witness to an alien, dreamy landscape that blooms out of nowhere. I write at my mahogany desk. The unbroken chain of visions, thoughts and feelings in a symphony, nothing gaudy, but graceful like the ceaseless sea that swells, falls, and breaks into nothingness, before starting again each time. I think of my childhood spent, long and boundless days, the school, the playground, and wonder how I come this far, or have I? Am I still that boy flying around with fleshless legs, down the cemented slope, the tall, steep stairs, to buy sundries for my mum, to that provision shop we called "Bata"?

No comments: